


Tale 3: Coming Out

by Lady Angel (dameange)



Series: AZA (After the Zombie Apocalypse) [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 13:57:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dameange/pseuds/Lady%20Angel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The secret is out: werewolves reside in Beacon Hills.  Everyone finds out, but not everyone reacts well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tale 3: Coming Out

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Ceares for her awesome betaing . . . if it's wrong, it's my fault. Also to Heyy13 for her comments that helped inspire this tale.
> 
> As always, if you recognize the name the character is not mine . . . and even if you don't recognize the name they may not be mine either since I used characters from House, MD; Suits; and White Collar for this fic.

Stiles got to school in time to see the school’s parking lot had more lingering students than normal. But there was a clear division, his pack waited in the middle of the lot; the rest of the teenage population had left a wide circle around them. The other students, though, were doing anything but ignoring his pack: sneaking glances, taking a step or two closer, whispering behind their hands. He rolled his eyes and joined his friends.

“So, what’s goin’ on?”

Jackson, leaning against a rarely used light pole with an arm around Lydia, shrugged. “The usual. What everyone did on Saturday night, blah blah.”

Lydia snorted delicately. “Like they all didn't go to the movies, then hang out in the parking lot talking about us.”

Stiles grinned, moving to lean on Scott. The only unnecessary use of electricity in Beacon Hills AZA were the movies. Every Saturday night, a theatre would run two movies and it was opened to everyone. It was a form of normalcy that people clung to and that the city could afford to allow.

“Nothing we need to worry about,” Erica assessed, eyes clearly roaming the people around them for threats. 

“Well, it’s not like we’re going to be far from each other.” Isaac pointed out as he hopped up off the ground where he had been leaning against Danny’s legs.

As a group, they made their way into the school.

Stiles had to bite his lip to keep the laughter from exploding. It was something like from a 1980s teen movie: he and his friends clustered together, slo-mo walking through the center of the hallway, people at their lockers all turning to stare. Whispers dying, eyes wide, people flattening themselves against lockers and walls to give them room.

Proving that she was really the perfect girl, Lydia said, quite loudly, “I wasn't even born then, how could I possibly be in a 1980s flick?” 

Half of them snorted.

“Well.” It was too good to pass up. “We definitely have the roles down pat.” Stiles held up his hand to tick them off. “The queen bee.”

Lydia preened.

“The badass nice girl.”

Allison giggled.

“We even have the douche jock!” He slanted a glance backwards. “That’s you, Jackson. In case you’re wondering.”

“Hey!”

Stiles immediately ducked, cackling.

Their fellow students stared at the pack like finding out that half of them were werewolves made them completely different somehow.

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

_The emergency alarm that had been installed at the main entrance to the walls blared through the air._

_Stiles didn't even think, heading straight for the horse he was using that day. He had to fight to keep from tangling the reins, urging the horse towards the entrance. He could hear more hoof beats behind him; he was sure it was Danny and Dr. Deaton._

_He arrived to see something from a nightmare. He had to push his way through the gathering townspeople – most armed – to see a small van enclosed at the end of the tunnel, the metal sliding wall the only thing separating the people in the van and the slavering mass of zombies._

_“The gate won’t close!” someone yelled desperately._

_“Stay away from the tunnel!”_

_“There’s more coming!”_

_“Someone please help us! We've got a lady in labor in here!”_

_“EVERYONE, STOP.” His father’s roar was just short of his wolf’s usual howl._

_Everyone but the moaning, straining zombies fell silent._

_“McMillian,” his father turned to one of the guards. “Why isn't that gate closing?”_

_The guard with the binoculars got as close as he could but stayed out of range of the zombies. With the chicken wire mesh, it was hard for one of them to get through, but after the attack on his father, everyone gave it a healthy distance. “There’s something stuck in the gears,” he reported._

_His father scowled. “Jones, can we fix it?”_

_“There’s no way to reach it from here,” Clinton Jones said, voice hard but also afraid. He was one of the mayor’s staff and an engineer who had helped design the gate. “Someone has to climb the ladder and manually remove whatever’s in there.”_

_“That’s a death sentence,” House announced as he thumped towards the front._

_Stiles could feel him before he even spoke._

_“Not for me.” Derek stepped up beside him._

_For a split second, Stiles thought about throwing himself at Derek and refusing to let him go, but he could see the fear in people’s eyes as more and more zombies piled into the wire tunnel, straining it. They had built it strong, but they had relied on the heavy door and walls to keep the majority of the zombies out. The tunnel was a means of keeping stray zombies contained before they were disposed of by sniper rifle._

_Stiles stopped the fear-filled words from leaving his lips, but turned to curl himself around Derek’s body. He clutched tightly, buried his face into a strong shoulder, melted into Derek’s body when equally strong arms held him just as tightly. He couldn't stop the small smile when Derek rubbed his face into his neck and cheek, lips pressing kisses into sensitive skin. Their foreheads pressed together, breathed each other in. “You be careful.”_

_“Promise.”_

_Stiles softened into Derek’s kiss, clinging just a little when the alpha pulled away. He curled around the leather jacket Derek pressed into his arms._

_People began murmuring, first about the sheriff’s not-yet-legal son and the older man, but those murmurs changed when they saw Derek launch himself on top of the tunnel that stood twelve feet tall._

_“How the fuck did he do that?”_

_“What is he doing?”_

_“Is he going to – Jesus God, he’s going to die.”_

_“He’s not going to die!” Stiles hissed at whoever said that, jerking around but was stopped from punching the asshole by strong hands. He didn't fight against the familiar hold. “I’m fine, Scott, let go.”_

_Stiles wasn't sure when the rest of the pack had arrived, but now he was surrounded by them. They offered their silent support. Lydia even laced her fingers through his; Erica pressed into his back. He ignored them all, staring at Derek as he leaned down to open one of the tunnel’s rooftop escape hatches. The hatch flew open, but Derek didn't jump right in. Instead, his head moved in a familiar pattern as he took on his beta form._

_“What the fuck?”_

_“What is he?”_

_Derek threw his head back and roared a challenge, then dropped straight through the hatch._

_Stiles and the rest of the townspeople watched as Derek used claw and fang to rip through the zombies. Breaking their necks, ripping their heads off, he was a moving blur. But still they came._

_“He’s overwhelmed,” Lydia evenly observed. “He’s going to need help.”_

_Stiles saw his father starting to remove his gunbelt. His hand shot out to stop him. “No.”_

_“Stiles --”_

_“You’re a new wolf; you can’t control it like the others yet.” Stiles felt this strange calm settle inside of him. “Scott, take the betas in.”_

_Beside him, Scott threw his head back and howled._

_People scrambled away from the pack._

_The wolves surged towards the tunnel, then inside. Derek howled his welcome; systematically they began killing the zombies._

_It wasn't enough._

_“Derek!” Stiles called loudly, knowing the werewolf could hear him but he wanted to make sure that everyone around him heard him too. “Lead them outside. Lead them away from the gate.”_

_Derek barked his understanding, but the zombies weren't moving. “They won’t follow!” he growled in frustration._

_“Leave that to me,” Lydia declared, running off to a saddled horse and taking off._

_Stiles turned to Jones. “How do we get the gate working again?” The African American man was too busy staring at Stiles’ pack. He stepped forward, grabbing the man’s broad shoulders and shook his entire body. “Jones!”_

_“What?” Dark eyes finally focused on him._

_“How do we unstick the gate?” Stiles demanded, pointing at it._

_“They have to remove whatever’s stuck in the gears, but they can’t hit the gears themselves or the gate will have to be completely repaired.”_

_Stiles nodded, glancing around. He strode forward and grabbed a rubber mallet from a guy’s hand._

_“Hey!”_

_“I need it.” Stiles turned towards his father. “Dad, I need you to get up there and give this to Isaac. He’s our best climber.”_

_His father immediately grabbed the hammer and launched himself onto the tunnel. People’s muttering got louder, thankfully, it sounded positive._

_“Isaac!” The curly head turned towards him even as Isaac’s hands twisted a zombie’s head clean off. “Get up there and look at the gears, figure out what’s making it stick, but don’t take it out until I tell you!”_

_Isaac bobbed his head and grabbed for the mallet. He climbed the ladder, absently kicking zombies away from his feet. “I found it! It looks like a leg bone.”_

_“Sheriff! Here!”_

_Stiles turned in time to see Lydia had returned with a huge bloody leg of something in her hand. His father jumped down and grabbed the meat._

_“Derek!” his father called when he had climbed back on top of the tunnel, then lobbed the meat over the zombies straining hands and into Derek’s._

_Immediately the zombies turned towards Derek._

_The rest of the pack converged on him, hands out, ripping hanks of meat off the leg._

_They backed out of the tunnel, dangling the meat like bait on a hook, the zombies followed._

_“Isaac! Now!” Stiles ordered._

_Isaac banged the rubber mallet once, twice, then jumped towards Derek as the gate came crashing down._

_“They’re okay!” one of the tower guards yelled down unexpectedly. “They’re leading the zombies away!”_

_A cheer went up._

_But Stiles was still focused on the remaining zombies who were closest to the sliding metal wall and the van full of people. “Allison, got your crossbow?”_

_He heard the snick of the bow being opened._

_“Yes,” she answered._

_People stared at what they had thought was a pretty, but ordinary, teenage girl._

_“Want to get up there and shoot the rest of the zombies in the head?” he asked cheerfully._

_“Sure,” Allison answered just as cheerfully._

_Their cheerfulness covered their anxiety._

_“Allison--”_

_“I’ll be fine, dad.” She confidently strolled towards the tunnel, smiling at Stiles’ father as he offered her a boost. Allison was Diana personified as she knelt at the hatch and aimed her crossbow. She calmly and methodically shot until she ran out of arrows. There were still two zombies left. “Dad, can I borrow your gun?”_

_Argent shook his head ruefully as he unstrapped one of his pieces. He removed the clip, made sure the bullet in the chamber was out, then tossed the gun and the clip to his daughter in rapid succession. Allison fed the clip in and chambered a round. Two shots later, all of the zombies were dead. She jumped down into her father’s waiting arms._

_“Great job, Allie.”_

_Allison beamed at her father._

_“Dad,” Stiles turned back to his own father; there was still one problem left. “Can you smell the infection?” He nodded towards the section where the van sat. The driver was visible, but little else._

_His father concentrated on the vehicle. “Not with them inside.” He raised his voice. “Hello, inside the van! Please come out!”_

_Slowly people filtered out. One young man lingered by the door. “My girlfriend . . . she’s in labor.”_

_His father nodded in understanding, moving closer and inhaling deeply. “There’s no infection.”_

_“In that case,” House announced, “Chase and Cameron are volunteering to go in there.”_

_Sure enough, the two young doctors were suited up and carrying whatever they would need to help the woman give birth._

_As he watched the doctors help the woman and his father enter a heated discussion with the mayor, Stiles allowed himself to lean against Lydia and Danny. Allison joined them in seconds. Silently, they stood, listening to the crowd around them talk about what just had happened. Speculation about what Derek and the rest of the pack were, what they thought about such creatures living among them. From the sound of it, no one had picked up the fact that his dad was also a wolf._

_Stiles listened to judge how the wind blew, to make plans in case the town turned against them. He leaned against his friends, waiting for his mate to come back._

_“All right, listen up, everyone!” Mayor Burke climbed up on top of a box, putting him just a half a foot above the crowd. He patiently waited as everyone slowly fell silent. “What you just witnessed was Beacon Hills’ werewolf pack--”_

_People exploded into chatter._

_“Hey!” Mayor Burke clapped his hands, just once, very loudly. People stopped. “As I was saying, werewolf pack, led by their alpha, Derek Hale.” He paused as if expecting another outburst. When no one said a word, he nodded. “Yes, I've known about werewolves for several months now. So have the sheriff, Dr. House, and a few others.”_

_“Why didn't you tell us?” one man yelled._

_“Honestly,” Mayor Burke shrugged. “We didn't think you needed to know.”_

_“WHAT?” several people screamed in outrage._

_Mayor Burke stared them all down. “Really, what would you have done if you had known? They’re not a danger to you. Most of them are teenagers, for God’s sake. They’re human with just a little something extra. And,” he glared at one guy who was surging forward. “Thanks to the pack, the rate of infected people coming into Beacon Hills has gone down drastically.” He smirked, just a little; enough to appear confident and mischievous without sending people into fits about him being cocky. “Or haven’t you noticed?”_

_People started muttering again, but now they were talking about how the infection rate was going down and how newcomers didn't have to be quarantined as long._

_“And have you noticed that when Derek goes with the scavenging team, they’re less likely to meet up with zombies?” the mayor pointed out. “The guy has super senses; he can tell if zombies are in the area. He’s steered the teams clear of infested areas so that nobody else has to get infected.”_

_Everyone remembered those early runs when they needed medications or other supplies. Getting volunteers had been hard as hell. The teams always encountered zombies, always returned with fear and horror in their eyes. And, more often than not, someone came back infected. The families of the scavenging team always waited with them at the quarantine section, usually just long enough to say goodbye. No one wanted to watch as their loved ones were put down by a bullet._

_Stiles remembered endlessly worrying about his father until Derek started going along with the scavenging teams. It didn't stop a pet ferret from infecting his father, but Stiles always felt better knowing Derek was going to be there to protect his father. And now, he didn't have to worry about the zombies killing his father at all._

_More and more people were losing the angry body language. More and more people were glancing at Stiles and his friends with a little more respect and acceptance. He could see the curiosity leaking from people, especially from their classmates or from people who knew them. People like Lydia and Danny’s parents. Thankfully, no one approached them._

_“They’re coming back!” Anderson in the watch tower yelled down. “Holy shit! There’s some big, black furry thing--” He raised his rifle._

_“NO!” Stiles scrambled towards the guard._

_“Don’t shoot!” his father ordered._

_“But!”_

_“It’s Derek!” Stiles shouted up at the guy. He knew the regular bullets wouldn’t hurt Derek, but there was no reason to let the general population know that. The pack, especially his father and Derek, had wanted to keep their weaknesses as quiet as possible. Stiles had vehemently agreed. “He’s in his alpha form! Leave them alone.”_

_Anderson was clearly wavering._

_“Leave them alone, Anderson. That’s an order.” His father glared up at the guard, voice harsh and stern._

_Anderson obeyed, dropping his rifle._

_“What’s going on?” one of the townspeople shouted up to him._

_“No idea,” Anderson answered._

_Stiles stopped paying attention to that conversation when he saw his father cock his head, listening. He grinned, noting to himself to tease his father about that classic dog expression._

_“Make a hole, people!” His father started waving people away from the wall, clearing a space._

_Not sure what was going, Stiles and the rest of the pack helped move people without questioning why._

_“Holy shit!” Anderson cursed loud enough for them to hear on the ground. “The furry one just launched McCall!”_

_On the heels of his words, Scott came flying over the wall, landing on his feet, knees bent to absorb the shock of landing in the cleared area. Scott lifted his head and howled an “all clear.”_

_“Holy shit!” Anderson’s curse was echoed by others as, one by one, the rest of the wolves came flying over the wall._

_Each landed easily, each still shifted and warily watching the townspeople._

_Seconds after the last beta landed, Anderson let out an awed yell, and Derek landed in front of his pack._

_His full alpha form gleamed like obsidian in the afternoon light. He was enormous with his full coat of fur and rippling muscles. Upright or on all fours, he was fast and powerful. The alpha reared up on his hind legs, head thrown back as he roared in triumph. His betas echoed their leader._

_Townspeople alternatively backed away or inched forward in fascination._

_Stiles ignored them all, heading for Derek._

_A cane hooked itself over his shoulder._

_“Nope, I don’t think so!” House announced gleefully._

_Stiles glared over his shoulder._

_House shook his head. “I’m not letting anyone near them until they’re decontaminated.” The doctor pointed his free hand towards a tent that held portable hazmat decontamination showers._

_Stiles hadn't even noticed when they had been erected. “But they can’t be infected.”_

_“They can’t be, but you can. They've got zombie guts and gore all over their claws and teeth. We don’t know if the virus can be transmitted through secondary contact. They’re not going near anyone not a werewolf until they’re completely decontaminated.”_

_Stiles wanted to argue with him, but the look on House’s face was implacable. He sighed and nodded in understanding._

_House nodded back, then faced the wolves. “All righty! Any lupine citizens who just saved the day get in there!” He thumped towards the showers where the rest of his team, all suited up in hazmat gear, waited with sponges and brushes._

_None of the wolves moved. Instead, they inched their way towards Stiles and the rest of their pack._

_“Freeze,” House ordered, glaring at them. “Do you want to infect them?”_

_Derek growled, low and mean, even as he moved towards Stiles._

_Before he could do anything, he found himself staring at the back of his dad’s uniform shirt._

_“Derek, you heard Dr. House. You need to get cleaned up before you can touch Stiles.” His dad’s voice was reasonable, his body language open and non-aggressive. But he was still between an alpha werewolf and his mate._

_Stiles tried to move around him, but his dad was too fast._

_Derek growled, then so did Scott when Mr. Argent got between him and Allison._

_“Dr. House?” Lydia said sweetly from behind Deputy Steven Sanchez. “How about we suit up and help your team get them clean?”_

_House slowly nodded._

_Tension eased then dissipated._

~*~*~*~*~*~  
~*~*~*~*~*~

“Any issues with your families?” Stiles asked as they waited for the bell to ring for their first class. Surprisingly, everyone in the pack had this class together, a study period that allowed them to get homework done if they hadn't finished because of their jobs the day before. The pack sat at the back of the classroom at Stiles’ direction. He wanted to have this discussion without any ears overhearing. While he had been dying to talk to his pack all weekend, he, Derek, and his father had been busy calming down the mayor.

While Mayor Burke had been gracious and all-knowing in front of everyone else, he had rained hell and brimstone down on their heads about being kept in the dark about the rest of the pack. Specifically, the other wolves in the pack.

_“You said there weren't any other werewolves!” Burke shouted at them._

_“Technically,” Stiles couldn't help himself, “we didn't say that.”_

_Burke glared at him so hard Stiles slunk low into his seat and avoided the man’s eyes._

_Thank God for Burke’s wife._

_“Peter, honey.” Elizabeth Burke was a gorgeous woman who managed to rein in her husband’s temper with just two little words. It was kind of amazing to watch. It seemed to help when his husband wrapped an artist’s hand around Burke’s wrist._

_Burke sat back down and pinched the bridge of his nose, leaving is wrist in Neal’s hand. “Okay, is there anything else I need to know?”_

_Derek, Stiles, and his father all exchanged glances._

_“Other than Deaton being our Yoda, nothing really.” Stiles wanted to hide again when the mayor’s eyes glared at him, clearly waiting for an explanation on that little tidbit._

Lydia rolled her eyes. “My mom’s completely freaking out. I’m staying with Allison until she’s calmed down or Cameron gives her more Xanax, whichever comes first.”

“My parents are hovering worse than helicopter parents,” Jackson tried to one-up his girlfriend. “They keep asking me why I asked for the bite.”

Everyone shifted uncomfortably when they remembered the whole kanima thing. Thankfully, Jackson was emotionally more settled now, Derek and the rest of the pack giving him that sense of belonging that being adopted never had.

“Once my parents figured out I wasn't a wolf, they were cool with it.” Danny grinned, nudging Jackson. “They just blame it on Jackson, like they do all my bad decisions.”

Jackson faked a laugh, glaring at his best friend, only mollified when Danny wrapped an arm around him. Lydia watched her boyfriend flirt with his best friend with an indulgent smile.

Stiles shook his head and turned to Boyd and Erica. “And you two?”

Erica shrugged. “She goes between being happy I don’t have seizures any more to freaking out that I’m a supernatural creature. It’s . . . nauseating to keep up with her moods.”

Scott reached out and squeezed her hand. “My mom was the same. Maybe they should get together?”

Erica looked skeptical, but nodded. “Yeah, I’ll talk to her about it.”

“My little sisters think it’s cool, they want to meet the pack,” Boyd spoke up quietly, wrapping his arm around Erica, almost to fortify himself for the rest of his answer. “My aunt keeps praying and fingering her rosary every time she sees me.”

Stiles winced. Boyd’s aunt had taken in him and his two younger sisters when their dad had died even though she could barely afford their care. She was a good woman and was devoutly Catholic. The whole werewolf thing had to be causing a crisis of faith for her.

“I may.” Boyd paused, glancing around at their pack, his voice even quieter. “I think I’ll need to move out. It’ll be easier for her and better for my sisters.”

No one said anything at first, once again shifting uncomfortably. They had guessed that at least one of their families would react badly to the revelation that they were werewolves or part of a werewolf pack. Thankfully, Stiles, Derek, and Lydia had worked out a plan for that.

Danny grinned, a small forced thing, but still welcoming nonetheless. “Looks like you’re moving in with me, B. The only two sane ones in this bunch, it’ll be cool.”

Boyd’s lips flickered in a smile; the light in his eyes was pure gratitude and pack connection.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The teachers alternatively stared at them or treated them as if nothing had changed, though those that did the latter were very few and far between. Everyone though, kept their distance, including the lacrosse team even though they were the ones who knew most of the pack the best. 

Incredibly, Coach Finstock was the only person in the entire school to say anything about the wolves directly to them. He had squinted at each member of the pack that was also on the team. “Damn shame we’re not playing against other schools anymore. We would've crushed them.”

The other students stared at him in blank stupefaction.

The wolves rolled their eyes while Stiles laughed his ass off.

It wasn't until lunch that anything really changed. A hush had fallen over the townspeople when Derek moved through the crowd, Stiles’ father behind him. The two of them ignored the stares and whispers; getting in line to get lunch like it was any other day.

Stiles waved at his father, but focused his attention on Derek. He lifted his face towards him mate, smiling into the sweet hello kiss Derek gave him. “How was your morning?”

Derek, unsurprisingly, shrugged. “Okay.”

“Just okay?” Stiles rolled his eyes and turned towards his father. “Dad?”

His dad waved his fork as he finished chewing. “It went fine. The other deputies get it, a fellow brother in blue so to speak. There shouldn't be any problem on that front.”

The news helped Stiles relax. While guns were prevalent in Beacon Hills thanks to the zombie apocalypse, no one but Chris Argent and his hunters knew how to effectively hurt a werewolf. With the deputies behind Derek, the wolves wouldn't have to worry about getting shot at if they were spotted coming or going over the walls. A good thing since the rationed food portions given out to each townsperson weren't enough to fuel the higher metabolism of the wolves. 

Derek had been covertly hunting outside the walls for his pack since the beginning, bringing home large game and any domesticated farm animals he could find. It had been hilarious seeing Scott and the others’ reactions to the meat the first time Derek presented them with a deer. None of them would touch it, standing around and staring at the huge bloody carcass that Derek had skinned and deboned. Derek had rolled his eyes and opened his mouth, but before he could command them to eat, Stiles had lit a fire, pulled out seasonings and roasted the venison into delicious, delicious hunks of smoky goodness. No one had any complaints after that. Derek had rolled his eyes and muttered about prissy, pampered puppies though.

“Hi, Erica.”

Stiles turned at the soft greeting, easily heard over the hush that had fallen over the area around them.

Erica hastily swallowed. “Callie, Brian, hey.” She scooted over to make room when it was obvious the brother and sister wanted to sit with them.

The Hendersons, all six of them, had arrived not long after the zombies had become national news. Not only had they lived close by when they apocalypse occurred and Erica’s family, but they were also farmers and Beacon Hills would need Mr. and Mrs. Henderson’s know-how to grow their own crops, making them very popular in Beacon Hills. Callie and Brian were the oldest of the Henderson kids and Erica’s cousins. Callie was a year younger than Erica, Brian two years younger.

The two of them smiled at the rest of the pack, but their bodies were wary while their eyes were curious. The rest of the pack nodded to them, used to having the Henderson siblings join them for lunch. It was uncomfortably silent for a few moments, and for once Stiles was at a loss for words.

Brian broke the silence; unfortunately, it just made everyone even more tense. “How did you become werewolves?”

No one answered, no one moved, only their eyes did, seeking each other out. Erica especially, sought out the others’ eyes for help, not knowing how to answer her cousin. Callie was staring in horror at her brother, but her body language was alert and ready for either an answer or to run.

Thank God for his dad.

“Why do you want to know, son?” his father asked mildly, going back to his lunch like Brian had asked what the weather was like for today.

Faced with an adult and a law enforcement officer, whatever courage Brian used to ask the loaded question quickly fled, leaving him stuttering out an answer. “Just. Uhm. You know. Just curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” Lydia snarked making Stiles grin into his water.

Both the Hendersons flinched at the perceived threat.

“It’s best if you leave your curiosity at home and not ask questions.” His father brought out his “sheriff” voice and the glare that had quelled many of Stiles’ more foolhardy-but-probably-would-have-work ambitions.

“But what if I want to become one?” Brian’s courage must have come back, or maybe it was a streak of stubbornness that had him jutting out his chin and asking that question.

“Not going to happen,” Stiles denied without even thinking about it. He inwardly flinched, but was relieved when Derek placed a gentle hand on his thigh. He was still learning what a mate could do for an alpha werewolf, sometimes overstepping his bounds to Derek’s irritation, but for the most part, Derek was okay with him making major decisions for the pack. That boost in trust and confidence went a long way, but every once in a while, Stiles worried about stepping in at the wrong time.

“This isn't a club,” his dad took up the baton. “You don’t ask to join.” He leaned forward, face deadly serious. “Not when there’s a fifty percent chance you could die.”

“W-what?” Callie spoke for the first time since greeting them. She was pale now, eyes wide with surprise.

“It’s a gamble,” Erica said, staring at her cousins, clearly trying to get them to understand. She also talked loud enough for the people around them to hear. “You either get turned into a wolf or you die. It’s a flip of the coin, you never know what you’re going to get.” She bared her teeth. “You want to play Russian roulette with your life?”

Callie and Brian stared at her, silent, obviously trying to understand.

“But you--”

Erica hissed at Brian. He jerked back.

“The epilepsy,” she ground out. “It was never going to go away. I wanted to learn to drive a car. I wanted to travel and live my life the way _I_ wanted to. But the seizures would always hold me back, would never let me go.” She couldn't meet their eyes, turning her face away from them all, towards the sun. Erica lifted her face into it, clearly savoring the sunlight on her face. When she spoke again, her voice was lower, but no less powerful. “It was worth the risk. If I died, then I died. But if I lived, I would get to live it on my own terms.”

Stiles reached across everyone to grab her wrist; Derek wrapped his hand around both their hands. Boyd curled his big body around hers.

Stiles hadn't known it had been that bad for Erica. She had always awkwardly laughed off the seizures in the aftermath, had curled around herself, but he hadn't known that the depression was bad enough for her to want to die. But it made sense now, Derek offering her the bite, seeing something of himself in her. He leaned into his mate, but didn't let go of Erica, offering both of them comfort.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“Dude, you’d think after what Erica said, people would stop asking!” Scott ranted as he came into Stiles’ house. Behind him most of the pack followed. Allison, her dad, Danny, his parents, and Boyd would soon be there. “ I've been cornered by everyone from my mom’s coworkers to little kids.”

“It’s because you’re nice.” Lydia smirked as she unloaded the potatoes her family grew. Together with the milk Stiles brought home from working with the dairy cows, it would make some awesome mashed potatoes.

“Yeah,” Stiles snarked, not being able to help himself. “You’ll notice no one’s asking Jackson anything.”

“I noticed,” Jackson retorted, “that no one wants to talk to you, Stilinski, period.”

“I’m okay with that,” Stiles threw back. They might be pack, but they were determined to be the best frenemies ever. He grinned as his pack set-up fires to grill the recently hunted venison and to cook all of the side dishes they were going to have tonight. Normally, the pack ate their meals at the high school with the rest of the town, but tonight, Derek had declared it pack night, with all of their families invited. It would be a chance for their families to get to know each other and the rest of the pack. A chance to show them what being in a pack was all about. With no electricity, they were going to be cooking on open fires in the Stilinski backyard. 

His dad was presiding over the main grill, ordering Derek and Scott around, leaving the rest of the pack and their families to Lydia, who had them working like a well-oiled machine.

“People are still curious,” his dad said as he directed the other two wolves on where to place the heavy metal grid over the brick-lined fire pit. “They’re going to ask about werewolves until it becomes old news.”

“And how long is that going to take?” Isaac asked from where he and Erica were cutting up potatoes.

Erica’s mom, Lydia’s mom and stepfather, and Jackson’s adopted parents were obviously listening even as their hands shucked corn cobs and cleaned green beans. Their eyes were wide as they watched their son and daughters interact with each other, as Erica effortlessly lifted heavy containers of potatoes, as Jackson tossed loads of brick around like they were cotton balls. Beside them, Melissa worked, answering any quietly asked questions they might have. Stiles was confident that his packs’ relationship with these parents would be fine, given time. 

Unfortunately, Boyd had moved out of his aunt’s home. His sisters had cried for him, but his aunt had not said a word in protest and seemed relieved he was gone. Boyd still saw his sisters whenever he could and he might bring them tonight, but he was orphaned all over again. Except for the pack. Danny’s parents had welcomed him with open arms and Derek had spent quite a bit of time with Boyd. Stiles missed his mate those nights, but he knew why Derek had to be away.

Soon enough, everyone had arrived and the food finished cooking. Dinner was awkwardly silent. As if now that their hands were no longer busy, no one had any idea what to say to each other.

Stiles found himself at a loss for words for once too. Spilling the beans to his dad had been done during a semi-crisis situation and really, his dad’s main concern had been his still-at-the-time underage son and said son’s feelings for a twenty-three year old man. That Derek was a werewolf had been filed away but not really addressed.

Thank God for Lydia.

“So, sheriff, anything interesting on the law enforcement front?” She paused, as if making sure everyone was listening. “Especially anything about our pack?”

Not the most kosher of topics, Stiles criticized in his own mind, but better than nothing.

“Mayor Burke has spoken with Judge Pearson and they don’t think anything needs to change.” His dad was savoring the venison without a lick of shame. Stiles only let him have it because all of his tests had come back saying that his cholesterol and blood pressure levels were back to the peak of health. When his dad had heard that, the victorious smirk had been almost too much for Stiles to handle, even though he was secretly glad his father was completely health now. “All the laws that apply to the other citizens apply to pack members as well.”

“And to protect us?” Derek rumbled, not looking up from cutting up his venison, but tension infused his every movement.

Stiles leaned against him, rubbing his face against a muscled bicep in support. He grinned when he felt Derek’s lips brush a kiss on his temple. Across from them, Scott pretended to gag. Stiles stuck his tongue at him.

His dad cleared his throat and Scott’s mom pinched his side. Scott barely managed to contain his yelp to Allison’s amusement.

“That’s where the Hunter’s Code comes in,” Chris spoke up for almost the first time that night since his greeting. After the apocalypse, Chris and his hunters here in Beacon Hills had come to a truce with Derek and the pack. After working at cross-purposes for so long, it had been the threat of zombies that had brought them together in a tentative truce. Since then, the hunters had kept a wary eye on the pack, while the pack had kept all of their senses trained on the hunters. 

“ I've decreed a strict adherence to the Code so our hunters shouldn't be a problem.” Allison was scary when she was in hunter mode. As the only female hunter left in Beacon Hills, leadership had fallen to her, with her father’s guidance. The other hunters, older and more experience, held her in high esteem, because she had successfully hunted down alpha werewolves before she was even seventeen. When the alpha pack had come to Beacon Hills, she had allied herself with the wolves and with her help they had beat the ever living snot out of the alpha pack. Stories of her taking on several alphas had spread, along with stories of where her loyalties lay. “For everyone else, the judge said that she didn't think that the town would need to amend their current laws because of the Militant Law Amendment.”

When several of those at the table looked at her in confusion, his dad spoke up. “It’s the law that puts anyone who breaks any of the violent felony laws outside the walls.”

“More commonly known as the Exile Law,” Mr. Whittmore informed them gravely.

Many of the humans winced. As of yet no one had broken this law, too fearful of being exiled outside the walls that protected Beacon Hills. Except for supernatural threats, Beacon Hills was a relatively safe place to live, even before the walls and the Exile Law went into place. Now that punishment was being left to your own devices outside with the flesh-eating zombies, no one had violated any major laws. Many were too busy trying to survive to even think about it.

His dad turned to Derek, but addressed everyone at the table. “If anyone hurts any of the pack, the department will arrest them like any other felon because they attacked a member of this community, werewolf or no. The judge will sentence them according to the law just like everyone else.”

“Do we have the right to defend ourselves?” Erica asked, just a touch of doubt and disbelief in her voice.

“To a certain point,” Chris immediately jumped in. He leaned forward, raising his voice to make sure that everyone heard and understood. “You know what will and won’t kill you, you use a directly proportional defense to your attacker and I won’t have to come after you.”

Derek snarled at the hunter. “And if it’s one of your men?”

“It won’t be,” Allison’s decree slammed down on them all. Her eyes fiery, her hand curled protectively around Scott’s. “ We've seen to it.”

Derek studied her and her father for a long time. Stiles couldn't do anything but lean against his mate and hope that Derek believed her and that Allison could uphold her promise.

Unfortunately, when the attack came, it wasn't from an expected source.

~*~*~*~*~*~

While the wolves may have noticed the guy first, Stiles was actually the one who turned to the fidgeting junior. Owen Abernathy was a regular guy, not popular, not an outcast. He was just one of those classmates that you didn't notice because he was just so very normal. Stiles waved to him, out of courtesy and curiosity. He had no idea why Owen was hanging on the fringes of the pack, looking like he wanted to approach them but something was holding him back. And not like the other people who had wanted to approach them since they “came out” either.

“Hey,” Stiles threw out an easy opening gambit.

“Hey.” Owen gripped his back pack harder, his regular brown hair was disheveled and his regular brown eyes were dark with trouble as they searched their surroundings. “Can I? Can I talk to you?”

Stiles’ spidey senses weren't tingling . . . much. So he nodded and stepped towards Owen. The other guy didn't try to take him far, just away from the crowd and, actually, closer to the pack. 

“Owen, are you okay?”

Owen shook his head, bit his lip. “Look, okay, so my dad’s. He’s like, seriously old school and a hardcore country good ol’ boy.”

Stiles wondered what a man like that was doing in liberal California but he kept his mouth shut, nodding encouragingly.

“He.” Owen swallowed. “He’s put up with a lot when my mom got the job offer here. At least,” he cleared his throat. “At least that’s what he says.”

“Okay?” Stiles had an inkling of where this was going but wasn't sure how far Owen’s dad was going to take it.

“He’s.” Own clamped his mouth shut, dry swallowing convulsively. His hands were gripping the straps of his backpack so hard his knuckles were white. His eyes never stayed still, searching the crowd.

“Owen,” Stiles used his most gentle voice. “Owen, is your dad going to attack one of us?”

Owen nodded vigorously, like he was relieved he didn't have to say it.

Stiles didn't even have to look away from the other guy to know that the wolves were circling around them, blocking off Owen, Lydia, Allison, Danny, and himself. He carefully placed his hands on Owen’s shoulders, feeling tremors running through the other guy. “Thank you, Owen, for telling me.”

Owen’s head bobbed crazily again. “My mom’s tried to talk to him about. I mean, she’s from here. I think. I think she knew the Hales or something?”

“But he won’t listen?” Stiles guessed.

Owen shook his head this time. “She and I, I mean, we think it’s cool, you know. Werewolves and the supernatural stuff.” 

Stiles gave him the best smile he could come up with. “Thanks.”

“And you’re protecting us,” Owen went on, eyes shining with admiration. “I was there, at the tunnel when the gate got jammed. The way you guys just jumped in. You saved us.”

Stiles squirmed under all that admiration. “I didn't really do anything, but thanks.”

Owen nodded, mouth firmly shut, maybe realizing how his worship made Stiles uncomfortable.

“Thanks for the head’s up,” Stiles offered, knowing how difficult it could be to deal with a family member gone a little nuts. Look at how Derek had to deal with his uncle.

Owen reached out and caught his arm. He looked resigned, but he asked anyway, “Could you not hurt him?”

Stiles could only pat his hand and say, “We’ll try our best.”

Unfortunately, when Mr. Abernathy attacked, he didn't hit one of the wolves.

“Allison!” Scott jumped to catch her, both arms already black with veins drawing away the pain.

Allison lay in his arms, her hands bloody where they clamped down on her wounded side. She was white but her eyes burned as they scanned for the enemy.

Jackson and Boyd had Mr. Abernathy on the ground, but it didn't stop him from spewing vitriol. 

“UNNATURAL BEASTS! MONSTERS! DEVILS!”

Stiles spared him one glare before turning to Scott. “Take her to the hospital. Isaac, Erica, go with him!”

The three disappeared. His dad and his deputies showed up. Stiles barely gave them a glance, leaving them in Lydia and Danny’s capable hands. Instead, he ran to the edge of the school’s parking lot and faced the trees. Derek appeared, fully alphaed out and roaring in rage.

“Derek, Derek, no!” Stiles put himself directly between his mate and the rest of the school. 

People were screaming and running back towards the school, deputies herding them, casting worried glances over their shoulders every step of the way.

Then Chris and his hunters showed up, guns aimed.

“EVERYONE, STOP!” Stiles roared, letting a burst of power infuse the very air around them. 

People froze, including Abernathy and Derek.

Stiles held them still for a beat more, held himself still for a beat more, before kneeling down in front of Derek. He cupped his mate’s wolfed out face, smoothing his thumbs along his muzzle. “I need you back in your human form, big guy. The danger’s over now, no need for your alpha form, just you, okay? We need just you.”

Derek heaved two great breaths before he melted back to his human form, nakedness and all. Stiles couldn't help the admiring glance before turning to see Danny offering a pair of jeans to their alpha. He noticed Danny couldn't help an admiring glance either. They shared a commiserating grin.

Moment of levity over, Stiles stood, slipping his hand into Derek’s, helping the werewolf to keep control as they turned to the hunters.

“Chris,” Stiles calmly addressed him. “Allison’s been shot.”

“What?” Complete shock was not a good luck for the hunter: white face, wide eyes, mouth slack.

“Scott took her to the hospital.”

Chris spun on his heel and left without another word. His hunters stared between their leader and Derek, completely unsure what they should do.

Turning to the rest of the hunters, Stiles nodded to Abernathy, now in his father’s custody, handcuffed but still pressed to the ground. “He shot Allison, but as you can see, he hasn't been hurt in any way. You should go to lunch or go support Chris.”

The hunters stared incredulously at him for long, long moments, then left.

Only once they were gone did Stiles let out a relieved sigh. He turned to Derek when he felt some of the tension drain from his mate. He received a smile and a nod, as much praise as Derek would give him in public. Stiles knew Derek would later overwhelm him with praise and love. He looked forward to it. But first, he had to deal with Abernathy.

“Stiles,” his dad stepped forward, unsurprisingly, “what happened?”

“We were waiting for lunch to start when Mr. Abernathy came up and shot Allison.” Stiles used his free hand to wipe at his face. “I think he was aiming for Scott. Jackson and Boyd were the closest to him and they grabbed him. I think Jackson threw his gun away?”

He turned to Jackson who nodded and pointed in a direction. A deputy broke off from their group with an evidence bag in hand to follow the path Jackson pointed out.

Stiles nodded back at Jackson and resumed his story, “I told Scott to get her to the hospital; Erica and Isaac are with him.” He waved his hand to indicate everything else. “I think you were here for the rest.”

His father nodded, before grabbing the back of his head and pressing a kiss on his forehead. “I’m glad you’re okay, kid.” 

Stiles grinned up at his father only to find his father’s eyes on Derek.

“You okay?” he asked his alpha.

Derek nodded solemnly, moving forward and pressing his side together with Stiles’. 

His dad must have believed him because he turned to Mr. Abernathy. “How did you slip the deputies we had watching you?”

Mr. Abernathy sneered. “Those clowns? Can’t track worth a damn and I've always been great at slipping by unnoticed.” He froze, then glared up at them. “Why were you having me watched?”

His dad gave him a raised eyebrow. “We knew about your . . . issues with the pack and took steps to stop you.”

Mr. Abernathy sneered once again. “Pack of devils, monster from hell. They shouldn't be mixing with good folk.” He spat at Derek’s feet.

Derek looked at it, then looked at him. The expression on his face and in his eyes said he wasn't worth it. “I’m going to check on Allison.”

Stiles let out a relieved smile that was kissed by his mate before he broke into an easy, quick run towards the hospital. He turned back to see his father ordering his deputies into action. 

“Get Abernathy back to the station and somebody call the mayor and the judge.”

Stiles followed his father; the rest of the pack followed him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Mayor Burke was massaging his temples, face pulled back into a grimace. “I was really hoping no one was stupid enough to attack a bunch of werewolves.”

“Goes to show you that stupidity should never be underestimated.”

“Harvey.” Judge Jessica Pearson glared the district attorney into submission.

Stiles always thought if there were such things as alpha werewolves, before meeting Peter and Derek, that the judge would make one kickass alpha. She was beautiful, elegant, statuesque, but above all, she was _scary_. He remembered meeting her the first time when he was six or seven, here at the police station. He and his mom had come to drop off lunch for his dad and he had stared up at her in utter and complete awe. He was still staring at her in complete and utter awe.

Harvey Specter, on the other hand, was newer to Beacon Hills. The district attorney had come from New York only a few years ago and had won the election by a landslide because of his expertise and his competence. He and the judge had come when they heard what Deputy Sanchez had to report, both frowning at the man behind the bars until the mayor could arrive.

“Well, we have to charge him,” his dad was saying to them. “And we've got enough witnesses to get a conviction.”

“The only question is what to do once we have to sentence him.” Judge Pearson sighed as she leaned back against a desk. Even in dirt-stained jeans and a simple t-shirt, she radiated an elegance very few could pull off wearing diamonds and silk.

“The Militant Law says we put him outside the gates to fend for himself.” Mr. Specter pointed out over his shoulder. His whole demeanor radiated nonchalantness, as if he wasn't proposing to throw a man to a pack of hungry flesh-eating zombies. “I heard that he bragged about slipping by your deputies unnoticed. It sounds like he likes his chances.”

“Except for the fact that he hit the wrong target,” his dad sassed back. “Look, he attacked a teenager, unprovoked. He attacked one of my own, but I can’t condone just sending him out there. It’s a death sentence.”

“That was the whole point.” Judge Pearson’s voice was soft, heavy with thought. “We knew we couldn't support a prison population, of any kind. It’s why we passed that law to deter as many violent felony crimes as possible. It’s worked until now.”

Mayor Burke laughed softly, ruefully. “I never thought we’d last a whole year with that law.”

Many of them shook their heads, also expressing their disbelief. 

“The way I see it.” Mr. Specter stepped forward, hand held up as he ticked off their options. “After a jury of his peers finds him guilty, either one, we go lenient on him and give him extra workloads and he makes reparations to the Argent family. Or two, we follow the letter of the law and we put him outside the walls.” He shrugged, holding both hands up, lifting one then the other like scales. “Only problem is, option number two guarantees his death – as far as we know, and option number one may send the message that attacking another citizen of Beacon Hills is okay as long as you’re willing to work a couple of extra shifts and give up some rations.”

“There’s no way in hell we have the resources to deal with the ramifications of option one.” Mayor Burke was adamant, leaning forward aggressively towards the center of their group, face hard, eyes stone cold. “I won’t have this city descending into chaos. It’s already bad enough outside the walls; it’s not coming in here.”

Stiles wholeheartedly agreed with him. Another repercussion reared its ugly head in his mind: someone else, someone with issues with werewolves, might take it as an okay to attack the wolves, to experiment on the wolves, it would make it open season on his pack. He stepped forward and spoke for the first time. “Option one also makes it sound like it’s okay to attack the pack, just because some of us are supernatural beings. If you go with that option, Derek will take the pack and leave.” He turned to stare at the mayor. “I can’t see you wanting to lose the resources the pack brings.”

Mayor Burke was no one’s fool. His eyes darted towards Stiles’ dad, one of the biggest resources of both the pack and the town. 

“You won’t just be losing me,” his dad pointed out, standing firmly beside Stiles’ announcement. “Did you ever notice how many deaths occurred after the Hale fire? How many deaths we had per year until Derek came back?”

Stiles watched with grim satisfaction when everyone nodded, but were still slightly confused. He saw his cue when his dad nodded at him. “Beacon Hills is on top of a nexus of ley lines. I won’t bore you with the details, just that the nexus draws supernatural creatures and beings here. Some of these beings are benign by nature, like the brownies and sprites, but some of them are not so nice. Some like werewolves can choose to be good or bad just like regular people.” 

He rolled his eyes as people began making their hurry-up-and-get-to-the-point faces. “Derek happens to be a tragic hero who got his happily ever after, therefore, he protects the town and its people from supernatural beings who would gladly turn us into an all you can eat buffet.” Stiles paused, letting all that sink in before swooping in with his trump card. “Just like his family had been doing since they settled here nearly a hundred years ago.”

It only took a moment before Mayor Burke wiped his face with his hand and said, “Well, shit.”

“Are you saying that if the pack leaves, we’re going to be besieged by supernatural creatures wanting to eat us?” Judge Pearson demanded.

Stiles kind of, sort of shrugged, moving his shoulders to indicate sheepishness and a ‘what can I say’ attitude. “I don’t want to make us sound like extortionists, but yeah.”

Mr. Specter was studying him. “Ley lines? What the hell are those?”

“Ley lines are invisible lines of power that can conduct magical energy,” Stiles explained, forcing himself to keep it short. Deaton had finally stopped with the Yoda act and laid it out for them years ago, right after the zombie apocalypse happened. He taught them everything he could, fearing that the knowledge he had would die with him in those uncertain times. The pack, still reeling from nearly dying at the hands of the Alpha pack had eagerly soaked up every piece of magic, lore, history and skill they could. “They attract supernatural beings.”

Then Mayor Burke asked the dreaded question. “And you know this how?”

Luckily, he and his dad had already come up with an answer that didn't involve revealing Stiles’ magic to anyone else.

“Alan Deaton told us,” Stiles answered, knowing that the mayor had shared Deaton’s status as magical advisor to the Hale pack with everyone in the room.

“I can also feel them,” his dad said bluntly.

Mayor Burke, Judge Pearson, Mr. Specter all turned to stare at his dad, who also did the sheepish shrug-like thing. 

“When I first got turned I could feel something in the ground and I asked Stiles. After doing some research into the crime statistics in the area, it all made sense.” his dad said. “Beacon Hills has a history of one, maybe two unexplained deaths before whomever, or whatever, was doing the killing stopped. After the Hale fire, those numbers increased and kept increasing until Derek reestablished his pack here.”

“Jesus God,” Judge Pearson whispered, covering her eyes with a hand. “Okay, so, option one isn't really an option.”

“Well, couldn't we give him a fighting chance, if you go with option two?” Stiles threw out there.

Everyone turned to him, Judge Pearson motioning him to continue.

He licked his lips, then answered. “Well, we could give him a car with a full tank of gas, food, supplies, a gun and some ammo or whatever, then send him out? It would give him a better chance than just throwing him outside the walls.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

That night, Derek curled around him, wrapped him up tight in his arms.

“Thank you,” he said quietly into the shell of Stiles’ ear.

Stiles turned to look at his mate, to study him. “For what?” He sighed in pleasure as Derek pressed gentle kisses all over the skin he could reach, nuzzled and caressed others. 

“For protecting the pack, for what you did this afternoon.”

Stiles tried to hide his blush, but Derek was not having any of that and cupped his head and held it still, their eyes meeting. Even though he knew Derek would do this, was looking forward to it, it still embarrassed the hell out of him when Derek praised him like this. “I didn't do anything.”

Derek made a disbelieving noise but let it go, kissing him so softly and deeply that Stiles melted into a puddle of sappy, happy goo. “My mate,” Derek whispered against his lips.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles had expected that the trial would draw in huge crowds and it did: nearly every person not at an essential job was there. He had also expected there to be grumbling and there was: people who were horrified that Mr. Abernathy could attack a teenager like that, other people who were worried about what this trial’s outcome would do. But surprisingly, there were only a few people who grumbled about supernatural beings or Mr. Abernathy being right. And it wasn't the people he thought would be grumbling about it. Mr. Abernathy’s wife and son were completely silent and sitting towards the back of the courtroom. Boyd’s aunt was sitting with a bunch of people Stiles knew were from her church group but none of them were talking, merely watching. 

Those who did quietly grumble at supernatural beings were people he would have termed “normal.” Like, they didn't seem overly religious, didn't seem like nutjobs. He eyed them, carefully making notes about who they were and remembering how many times he had heard “but they seemed like such nice people” regarding serial killers. Sometimes, it wasn't the outspoken ones you had to watch out for.

Stiles leaned against Derek and prayed to God that this trial would stop anyone from thinking about attacking his pack. All around him, he could feel his pack and their worries too. Derek slipped his hand into Stiles and squeezed reassuringly. Stiles tried to tamp down on his anxious heart and do the same.

“All rise; the court is now in session. The honorable Judge Jessica Pearson presiding,” the bailiff’s voice rang out and everyone fell silent.

Judge Pearson was silent for a long time too. She was studying everyone in the room, her eyes stopping on Mr. Abernathy’s family. When her eyes landed on Mr. Abernathy himself, they were hard but also regretful. “When the news broke about the Umbrella Corporation’s virus, when the world started to go up in flames, Beacon Hills knew it needed to do something to protect itself. We passed laws that were harsh, but we knew we couldn't support a prison population and we knew we didn't want the chaos and the deaths that were happening outside our walls coming into them. When we passed the Militant Law, we hoped that no one would break the law, that no one would make us put it into practice. We had hoped it would be a deterrent. And it worked, for over a year, it worked.”

Judge Pearson leaned forward, her eyes now completely hard. “Until you broke it, Mr. Abernathy.”

Stiles was surprised to see that the man was sweating bullets, that he was convulsively swallowing, but his face was just as cold as the judge’s.

“A jury of your peers has found you guilty, Mr. Abernathy, and now I must render a sentence.” She lifted her chin and stared down at them all. “I hope this will be a lesson to everyone here.”

Whispering started, growing fierce.

Judge Pearson banged her gavel, people jumped and quieted. She swept them all a quelling glare before turning back to Mr. Abernathy. “Carl Abernathy, you were charged with a felony assault with a deadly weapon, you were found guilty and sentenced to exile.”

The courtroom erupted.

Owen and his mom kind of collapsed in on themselves, their friends and family members surging around them.

Mr. Abernathy was slumped in shock as he was led away by bailiffs and deputies.

Many people seemed relieved.

“That will keep the crime nonexistent,” one man said with firm satisfaction.

“My kids will feel safe at school again,” said a woman.

Others were in shock. 

“I never thought they would do it!”

“It’s the law, but, but. . . .”

Thankfully, no one vocally blamed the pack. Maybe it was because no one saw them at fault, since they did nothing to provoke the attack, but it was more likely that no one dared to say anything with Sheriff Stilinski physically and figuratively standing between them and the pack. Or maybe it was the way Chris Argent stood there glaring at Mr. Abernathy, guns and other weapons prominently displayed. Maybe they were biding their time, maybe they saw the repercussions and decided to live and let live.

Whatever it was that stopped people from blaming the pack, a legal precedent had been set and Stiles was just glad it favored his pack’s continued survival. Of course, that didn't mean he – or any of his pack – would be letting their guard down any time soon. 

The End


End file.
